


Headache

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [45]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Percilot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: Don't know if you are taking requests, but I'm in need of some Percilot. Cuddles and encouragement, please. If you can. Thanks in advance.





	

Percival and James are a patchwork of opposites that somehow fit together perfectly. Where one is loud and boisterous, the other is stern and taciturn. Where one makes a joke out of everything and anything, the other is rumored to not know what the word ‘humor’ even means. It stands to reason that one’s favorite weather is the other’s least favorite.

The door bangs open, coinciding perfectly with a rolling thunderclap. Percival looks up over the top of his novel to find a pathetic figure in the doorway, dripping and hanging up a limp raincoat. “I told you to take an umbrella,” he says, returning his eyes to his book.

James harrumphs and stomps over to the sofa trailing raindrops on the floor. He throws himself down next to Percival, hair flicking water droplets onto the pages of his book.

Neither of them comment on it. Silence settles over them both and only after a few moments of it does Percival realize just how odd this is.

“James?” he asks. He receives only a grunt in reply. “Is everything alright?” he presses.

James’ head falls to rest on the back of the sofa. It flops from one side to the other in a parody of dissent. “Headache.”

Wordlessly, Percival marks the page, sets the novel aside, and pats his lap once. “Come on, then.”  

With a weary sigh, James lowers himself until he’s stretched out on the sofa, feet hanging off one arm and his head nestled in Percival’s lap.

Percival cards his fingers through James’ hair with long, soothing strokes. Eventually, he turns it into more of a massage, digging the tips of his fingers into his scalp and working backwards.

James hums and melts into the sofa, tension flowing out of him as the massage continues.

Percival himself doesn’t truly relax until James mutters a quiet ‘What were you reading?’ If he’s talking, that means he’s feeling better. A smile flits briefly across his lips before he replies. “A spy novel.”

James cracks open one eye and grins up at him. Percival’s distaste for the genre is well-known throughout the Kingsman agency and even moreso in the small flat the two of them share. “Yeah? And how is it?” he asks.

“Insulting,” Percival scoffs. “Clearly, the author doesn’t value the delicacy of our work.”

James reaches up to pat the side of his leg consolingly. “There, there, Perci, I know how stiff and serious our job is.”

Percival shakes his head fondly, rubbing his thumbs over James’ temple and eliciting a soft groan from the man.

“Why do you read them if you don’t even like them?” James asks after a bit.

Percival shrugs one shoulder, not stopping his fingers.

James clears his throat, grabbing Perci’s attention. “Do you want to know what my theory is?”

Something tells Percival that he should say no for the sake of his own sanity, but, as he usually does when it comes to James, he ignores his voice of reason. “Do tell,” he says.

“I think you,” James starts, pausing to pat Percival’s leg again, “like to be insulted.”

Perci can’t help it. He snorts. “That’s ridiculous,” he says, moving to trail his fingers over James’ ears and on down the side of his neck before dragging them back up.

“Is it?” James asks, eyebrows waggling. “Maybe you’ve liked to be insulted all along, you just never found a good way to tell me about it.” He lets go of Perci’s leg, moving his hand to his chest instead and trailing it slowly downwards suggestively.

Percival glances from the hand on his chest to James’ smiling face and rolls his eyes skyward. “Why do I put up with you?” he mutters quietly but there’s no mistaking the fondness in his voice.

James’ answering grin is blinding. “Maybe because I’m the only one willing to put up with you?” he counters.

Percival’s eyes slowly wander back down to him. “You might be onto something.”

James folds his arms over his chest, adopting Percival’s unusually stern expression. “My name’s Percival and nobody is allowed to have fun in my presence, especially you, Eggsy. A Kingsman agent should behave with nobility and dignity,” he deadpans in a flawless impersonation.  

Percival wrinkles his nose. “Stop making that face,” he says. “I don’t like that expression on you.”

James keeps it on, staring taciturnly up at him. “No? Well, I’d tell you to do something that would put me in a good mood, but I’m Percival and I’m never in a good mood so I-”

The stream of banter stops as Percival leans down and captures James’ lips in a brief but sweet kiss. “Did that do the trick?” he mumbles against his lips before pulling back.

James is silent for a moment, expression carefully blank. Then he shakes his head, pout back in place, exaggerated this time to suppress a smile. “No. I think I’ll have to have another one.”

With a rare smile, and a rarer laugh, Percival leans down to oblige.


End file.
